China’s Food Delivery Empire: Convenience at a Cost
- Sage
- 1 hour ago
- 5 min read
At 7 pm, I threaded my way through the narrow alleys carved out by Shenzhen’s “handshake buildings”—those densely packed high-rises so close that residents on opposite sides could, in theory, reach out and touch hands. I passed restaurant after restaurant whose kitchens are half-open to the alley—crates of produce stacked on the ground, dishes soaking in plastic basins, everything displayed with an almost defiant candor to a stranger like me. A quick glance: grease that seemed to have soaked into the very walls, storage racks in chaotic disarray. The cooks rarely bother with the required hats or masks.
I was sure cockroaches and rats had been lurking in the shadows, waiting for their moment to hunt.
Spotting Phantoms
In China, food safety remains a daily concern, and delivery—on which hundreds of millions of workers depend—has become the sector most prone to scandals. Countless people have been disturbed by “dirty takeout”: at best, finding stray hairs in their meal; at worst, landing in the hospital with food poisoning.
Among the many hazards, “ghost takeout” (幽灵外卖) restaurants have drawn particular scrutiny from regulators.
These are delivery-only operations with no dine-in service, or establishments that have long since closed yet still appear active on major platforms. They are, in effect, petri dishes for food-safety violations.
A few practical tips to protect yourself:
Check the photos the merchant has uploaded to the platform. A crude sign, no tables or chairs, and no visible kitchen are almost certain signs of a “ghost operation”.
Be wary of shops with implausibly high sales volumes, especially small outfits claiming “9999+” orders per month. Common sense suggests that a tiny kitchen with limited staff cannot sustain such numbers without cutting corners. According to data shared on the “Delivery Insider” forum, any merchant handling three hundred orders a day is almost certainly relying on premade dishes or pre-processed ingredients—heating and plating whatever is ordered.
Read the reviews that include photos, paying special attention to negative ones that mention “unidentified objects” in the food. (It might be hard to do for those non-Chinese speakers)
The safest way, of course, is to visit the physical location yourself. A bright front of house and a clean kitchen usually mean the takeout is reliable, too.
New Rules
On December 2, 2025, the General Administration of Market Regulation issued the “Basic Requirements for Food-Delivery Platform Service Management.” Among the measures aimed at “ghost restaurants”:
First, platforms must establish dedicated teams to verify merchant information. Beyond requiring licenses, they must confirm the actual operating premises; qualifying merchants are to be labeled “Dine-In Available.” (堂食店)
Second, platforms must publicly display valid operating credentials. When complaints spike or a registered address does not match the real one, further verification—and appropriate action—is required. Platforms are also mandated to conduct random audits, checking at least five percent of merchants each month and maintaining ongoing oversight.
Third, the rules promote “Internet Plus Transparent Kitchen,” linking video surveillance so that key stages of food preparation can be viewed in real time.
Some of these measures are already visible on the major platforms: the “transparent kitchen” feeds, for instance, and the new “dine-in” badge.
Loopholes, Inspections
Yet enforcement remains uneven. Merchants have found loopholes—placing a single table in a cramped space is enough to qualify for the badge.
The larger question is who truly bears responsibility for regular checking. The new rules appear to shift more of the burden onto the platforms themselves. One would expect the market-regulation bureaus to conduct regular inspections.
I asked a cafe owner, “How frequently the regulators came to check your cafe’s conditions?”
He said: “Once a year, I think, since I just started nine months ago, and I’ve only seen them once.”
In Shanghai, the Xuhui District regulator has posted “red-and-black list” videos on social media, showing unannounced visits to delivery kitchens.
In the first shop featured, a worker was frying steak in slippers (the quality of the steak itself seemed dubious). When asked for health certificates, one employee admitted he had not yet obtained one because he had “only just started.” The shop was ordered to suspend operations. What was advertised as “thick-cut steak” turned out to be produced in a tiny workshop.
The second was worse: inspectors nearly slipped on the greasy floor the moment they stepped inside. Even through masks, the stench was overwhelming; small flies swarmed freely.
One comment said: “This kind of oversight only works if it becomes routine.”
Industry sources say that a first warning typically requires rectification within a deadline, followed by a second surprise visit. Persistent violations bring suspension and fines that double with each infraction.
Shenzhen’s Market Supervision Administration has published its 2025 plan for routine food-safety checks, scheduling inspections according to each establishment’s risk rating. Low-risk (A-level) outlets are checked at least once every two years; high-risk (D-level) ones at least twice a year, with visits no fewer than three months apart.
The criteria for assigning risk levels are not fully transparent. The plan explicitly designates school cafeterias, large institutional canteens, and central meal-distribution units as D-level, while chain headquarters, catering-management companies, and third-party delivery platforms are exempt from rating altogether.
Some have asked how such places obtained operating licenses in the first place. Prevention, they argue, should begin at the source.
A delivery-kitchen owner in one of Shenzhen’s urban villages told me that opening a takeout operation requires a business license and a food-operating permit, plus ID and health certificates for the person in charge when registering on platforms.
Location matters, he said. A hybrid dine-in/delivery restaurant chooses its site differently from a pure delivery kitchen. The latter prioritizes proximity to office districts or commercial hubs rather than prime street corners—the “golden locations” that traditional restaurants fight over.
“My rent is ¥8,000 a month,” he said. “I put one table in the shop, and the platform certifies it as Dine-In Available.” With dine-in labeled, he explained, brings preferential treatment: better ranking in search results, higher visibility, and occasional subsidies or “merchant support funds.”
The new standards do tighten requirements on platforms, partly relieving regulators of sole responsibility while also addressing rider welfare.
Last year, authorities repeatedly summoned the major platforms after aggressive price wars—coupons as steep as “¥19 off a ¥38 order”—drove explosive order volumes without corresponding protections for delivery workers. Platforms kept touting “ultra-fast delivery” while failing to extend delivery windows or shield riders and merchants from the hidden costs of the promotions.
In China’s breakneck urban society, efficiency has become a baseline expectation. As mentioned in Elephant Diet Vol. 4, “food delivery quickly became treated as essential infrastructure rather than a premium service.”
Delivery is indispensable, yet the problems keep coming: food safety remains precarious, and riders’ rights are inadequately protected. The latest rules have reined in the platforms for now, but “ghost kitchens” persist. As for me, I still follow my own checklist and order only from merchants I trust.
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